Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Tristan deliberately kept teasing Genevieve, refusing to give her what she wanted.
He caught her earlobe between his teeth, his voice low against her skin. “Beg me.”
Genevieve hooked an arm around his neck and pushed herself hard against him. “Be good, and listen. Give it to me.”
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By the next morning, Genevieve woke with soreness still lingering in her body.
It felt like she had been taken apart and put back together, every inch of her still echoing with the night before.
She forced her eyes open, her focus sharpening little by little, until a sharply defined, handsome sleeping face came into view.
Tristan?
Tristan Hale!
Her mind blanked for a split second.
She turned her head, and her gaze swept across the floor, where clothes were scattered everywhere. That shredded red dress was the most blinding thing of all.
Fragmented memories came rushing back to her all at once.
She realized that she had been the one who had started everything.
She was done for. It was the only thing she could think about.
The last time she’d forced a kiss on him on the rooftop, she could still claim it was an accident, but this time… How was she supposed to call it an accident when she’d ended up sleeping with him?
She was still Zachary’s wife, at least on paper.
If a third person found out about this, she had no idea how far it could spiral.
Genevieve wanted to smash her head into the wall.
She glanced at the man beside her, still asleep, and decided she couldn’t afford to care about her aching body anymore. She had to leave immediately.
She held her breath, lifted a corner of the blanket, and was just about to slide out of bed when a large hand suddenly clamped around her arm and yanked her back.
“Ah!” Genevieve cried out as her balance gave way and she tumbled back onto the soft mattress.
A second later, Tristan rolled over, his tall frame pinning her down completely.
He was awake. There was a drowsy fog in his eyes that somehow made him even more dangerous.
The heat from his exposed skin seeped through the thin covers, and the faint contact made her breath hitch. Her face flared hot with embarrassment.
“Well… maybe we should get dressed first and talk this through?”
Tristan looked at her with something that wasn’t quite a smile. “What do you want to talk about?”
She choked on the question, and her thoughts turned into a mess.
Talk about what, exactly?
Talk about her cheating while she was still married, or talk about him sleeping with the woman who was his brother’s wife in
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Chapter 17
name?
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When she didn’t answer, his fingertips traced lightly along her collarbone-not quite a touch, yet impossible to ignore-and his voice dropped even lower. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to run off now.”
Genevieve tore into him in her mind.
So, he knew he wasn’t supposed to touch her.
She had obviously been drugged. Shouldn’t his first reaction have been to rush her to a hospital? Instead, he’d gone along
with it.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that it wasn’t all on her.
She straightened herself, gathering her courage, and stared him down. “Last night wasn’t just on me. We were both at fault.”
Tristan let out a low laugh. Then, he lifted his hand and gave her thigh a light slap.
Even through the blanket, the sound was sharp and unmistakable.
Genevieve went rigid.
His voice dropped low, laced with amusement. “Was that loud enough?”
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